


“Cute”

by teenageheartbreakqueen



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Everything Hurts, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not a ship-based fic, Other, Self-Harm, She tries to deal with trauma, So beware, Suicide Attempt, some of this is really graphic, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenageheartbreakqueen/pseuds/teenageheartbreakqueen
Summary: Natsuki hates being called “cute.” It’s what he called her.-No one listened to her when she spoke about her father-Please read tags for warnings.





	“Cute”

> _ But does anyone notice? But does anyone care? _

The shower water hit her back, as she bit her lip to fight back screams. The water was scorching hot. 

She made no effort to adjust the water temperature

Drip. 

Dirty. That’s what she was. 

Every inch of her body, her arms, her face, her thighs, everything. 

He had touched her everywhere. It left her  filthy.  And she would scrub away at her skin, until it would start peeling, until she was choking back sobs as she tore away at her own skin. 

Cute. 

That’s what everyone called her. 

The boy from her club, the club leader, her friends from school. She was not cute. 

Cute is what  he  would call her when he wasn’t screaming at her. 

Sometimes he would call her cute. He would tell her he loved her, he would call her cute, as if it justified him  touching  her. As if it justified the fact that he  sexually abused his own daughter. 

On other days, he’d hit her. He would beat her and call her a slut. 

In some ways, those days were easier to deal with. 

She was a broken girl, and nobody seemed to notice. 

Or was it that they didn’t care?

Scars littered her body. Some were from him. Some were from herself. 

When he had seen her self inflicted injuries, he used it to justify his actions. 

“See, my darling? It’s just nature for people to want to hurt you. I can’t help it. You’re so  cute  when you cry.”

Cute.

She tried to tell everyone that she wasn’t cute, begged them to stop calling her cute but nobody listened. 

She was apparently  cute  because she liked pink and “girly” things, because she liked to bake, because her bones jutted out from her shoulders and hips and elbows. 

That made her cute. 

Her father punished her by denying her meals. 

She was a walking skeleton. 

And to the boys she knew? That made her  cute. 

She wasn’t cute. She was being tortured. 

No one  listened  to her. They belittled her and didn’t take her seriously. She had nowhere to go. Nobody to talk to. 

She couldn’t tell anyone about what her father did to her. They wouldn’t believe her. 

Cute. She was cute so she wasn’t allowed to suffer. 

In the boys eyes, she wasn’t, but Yuri was. 

Because Yuri tall, mysterious, mature, and sexy. But Natsuki? 

Natsuki was  cute.  And nobody wants to be friends with someone who has trauma but doesn’t cope with it in a romanticized fashion. 

Because trauma doesn’t fit her  cuteness. 

Natsuki reached out to the bathroom sink, grabbing the flat piece of metal resting on the counter. 

She pressed the cold surface against the palm of her hand as she fell to her knees. 

She sat there, quietly crying for a minute. And then, there was banging on the other side of the door. 

Her father, telling her to let him in because he wants to help her shower. 

No. 

Not ever again. 

She was sick of this. 

She sat, her back resting on the cold tiled wall. 

She opens her palm, the razor having left imprints on her hand. 

The water was still scorching hot. 

Overcoming that one last positive thought, that one thing that had kept you going is hard. 

She thought of Yuri. Her escape. Her world. It was unhealthy. Yuri will be better off without her anyway. 

She digs the razor into her thigh. 

She’s done this hundreds of times. 

But this time she had a purpose. 

And she does it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again and again until her father’s drunken voice is drowned out and the water is red. 

She’s dizzy and her vision blurs. 

She’s tired of having her trauma overlooked. She’s tired of her father. 

She’s tired of being called cute. 

She’s tired. 

Really tired. 

Drip. 

Goodbye. 

> _ But would anything matter if you're already dead? _


End file.
